Green
by Michelle
Summary: Natasha and Clint spend some time in a decontamination chamber.


_This particular plot bunny kind of got away from me; it's definitely different than I intended!  
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_In case this (or any of my other stories) get deleted again, please remember that I cross post on Ao3 (archiveofourown dot org slash users slash sidhera) and tumblr (tumblr dot com slash sidhera).  
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_I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!_

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They were covered from head to toe in the glowing green goo when they came in, though they were arguing too much for him to figure out how they'd accomplished that particular feat. Steve had radioed ahead from the Quinjet to let him know to expect the two master assassins, and Bruce had already readied the decontamination chamber for their arrival.

"Well, maybe if you had bothered to check over the ledge first, we wouldn't be in this mess right now." Natasha unclasped her belt and dumped it on the table outside the decon chamber. She didn't raise her voice, she rarely did, but it was very clear that she was not amused by the day's events.

"We're alive, aren't we?" Clint looked ruefully at his bow before setting it down on the same table.

Natasha rolled her eyes and began stripping off her suit. "Alive, sure. But if my glock is ruined, you are going to fly your ass to Austria and get me a new one."

Clint had finished with his gear and unzipped his vest while sighing deeply. "Oh, I know."

Natasha threw her suit on the table, standing now only in her underwear. Throwing a positively hateful glare in Barton's direction, she shouted across the room at Bruce. "Hey, doc! Can you unlock the decon chamber?"

Bruce shuffled across the room where they stood, studiously not looking at the mostly nude SHIELD agents, though it was likely they were so caught up in their bickering that they wouldn't even notice.

Well, that wasn't true. He was sure they'd notice, but they'd probably just delay any retaliation until after they'd calmed down. So he kept his eyes forward and focused on the task at hand, pretending that he didn't even notice the smooth expanse of pale skin that stretched between Natasha's bra and panties.

Praying for strength, he typed his passcode into the keypad as quickly as possible, and the door slid open. Arms crossed and looking thoroughly annoyed, the two agents stepped into the tiny room, and the door slid closed behind them.

He heaved a sigh of relief, rolling his eyes upward as he walked back to his station. Bruce completely understood the need to blow off steam after a rough mission, understood why the two of them bickered the way they did, but understanding didn't make dealing with the pair any easier. He flipped the room monitor on then put in the headset that would allow him to communicate with the operatives inside.

They were sitting side by side on the narrow bench, not talking to each other, looking for all the world like a pair of petulant children. Forcing himself not to laugh at the sight, Bruce spoke into the mike.

"Ok, agents, I know you know the drill, but humor me." He tapped a few buttons on his keyboard and a small compartment opened up in one of the walls. "Please place the remainder of your clothing into the box for incineration. I will, as always, do my best to render inert the substance on your weapons before I resort burning, but no promises."

Natasha somehow managed to look even more put out at that, but Clint just sighed and buried his face in his hands, muttering something about his bow.

Bruce continued with his instructions. "In two minutes, the liquid sanitizer will spray from the ceiling. Make sure that you get it on every part of your body that came into contact with the contaminant. Remember to open your eyes under the spray. After the shower, the room will fill with a fine mist that you need breathe in for the next 45 minutes. After all that, you're set, and I will make sure that fresh clothes are waiting for you. Questions?"

For a moment, Bruce thought that they weren't going to say anything, but then Natasha spoke, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Yeah, I got a question. When are you going to get more than one decon chamber so I can do this without having to stare at Barton's hairy ass the whole time?"

Bruce would be more inclined to take pity on the pair if he weren't reasonably certain that they already spent a good part of their free time naked together. So instead of gracing her comment with a reply, he said, "Okay, if there's nothing else, I'm going to flip off the monitor and give you two some privacy. See you in an hour."

Clint and Natasha were standing up to remove the rest of their clothing when he turned the monitor off. If asked, Bruce would deny that the slight hesitation in his hand as he reached for the monitor had anything to do with the way Natasha was reaching around her back to unhook her bra. No, his hand was shaking because he'd skipped lunch. Obviously.

He crossed the room once more to the table where the agents had left their weapons and suits, pulling on a pair of long biohazard gloves as he walked. The green goo was coating both of their suits, and after carefully collecting a sample of the goo in a jar, Bruce threw the uniforms into the shoot headed directly for the incinerator. Better safe than sorry.

He picked through their weapons next, noting that they were in a little better shape, and so he placed them into the other, smaller decon chamber, the one designed for inanimate objects. Hopefully, after they took an immersion bath in the sanitizing fluid, they would emerge intact. If not, well, at least it was clear that Natasha blamed Clint for her weapons' loss and not him.

After he finished up sorting the items and cleaning up the table, Bruce tossed his gloves in the incineration shoot and headed back to his work station. The mist should have filled the room by now, so with any luck, most of the contaminant was already washed away.

Offhandedly, he noticed that there were sounds coming from his headset; he never turned off the audio when there were people in the chamber, just in case something happened, but these sounds were rather unusual. Groans and panting noises came over the speakers, and in his defense, Bruce really was worried that something bad was happening. He didn't know what the goo was made out of, and for all he knew, their skin could be sloughing off or they could be turning into their own special versions of the Other Guy.

So he switched on the monitor.

Well, he discovered, they'd certainly resolved their differences.

Natasha was laying with her back flat on the floor, her head thrown back and moaning. She had the fingers of one hand in her mouth, while the other had made its way down to tangle in the hair of Clint's head where it was buried between her legs.

Holy shit, he had not been expecting that. Maybe punching each other, but not that.

Because of the angle of the camera, he couldn't see much, but the noises escaping from Natasha coupled with the gentle sway of her tits was more than enough to get him instantly, painfully hard, and without even realizing it, his hand dropped down to the crotch of his pants in an effort to relieve some of the pressure.

Clint's arm shifted from where he had been griping her thigh, and it was very clear from the way she started rocking her hips that he had slipped a few of his fingers inside of her.

Bruce knew he shouldn't be watching this; he should turn off the monitor and get back to work, pretending like this never happened. But he's alone and the two agents are exceptionally attractive people, and it's been a long time since he's touched anyone the way Clint was currently touching Natasha.

So he left the monitor on, muted his microphone, and hit a few buttons on his keyboard to make sure that he wouldn't be disturbed. He unzipped his pants, slipping his hand inside and grabbing himself. His cock twitched in his hand at the filthy, throaty laugh that erupted from Natasha, and Bruce could tell that she was nearing orgasm from the way the flush on her cheeks spread and deepened, coloring her neck and upper chest. Clint's free hand shot up her body as she stiffened, pinching one of her nipples, and then she cried out, bucked against him and cursed.

She moaned as she came, and all Bruce can think is that this is even better than porn because it was all happening live and for real right behind the wall on the other side of the room. He stroked himself with renewed interest as Clint pressed kisses to her thighs and belly before he came to his knees. It was clear from the easy way they settled into position that they've done this before, and Bruce idly wondered how often they spent their time in the decontamination room engaged in such activities, but that thought was banished when Clint took his cock in hand and rubbed it up and down along her slit to her enthusiastic encouragement.

"Is this what you want, baby?" Clint asked, his voice rough with lust, and Bruce was shocked that Natasha not only allowed Clint to call her that, but it even seemed to turn her on more and she wiggled her hips against her partner.

When he didn't immediately enter her, Natasha practically growled her discontent. "I need you to fuck me right now, Barton."

Clint chuckled and sat back on his heels at that, dragged Natasha bodily up onto his thighs, and with one swift stroke, he buried himself inside of her. When she arched up to meet Clint's thrust, Bruce's own hand sped up, squeezing himself tighter and flicking the sensitive head of his dick while he watched Natasha writhe against Barton. Fuck, he would give anything to trade places with the archer, to be the one to make her flush and moan as he drove into her over and over. He couldn't peel his eyes from her, the way she moved her back, the way her breasts swayed in time with their movements, the way she bit her lip and hooked her ankles tightly around Barton's waist, drawing him closer to her. Bruce had long thought she was incredibly fucking hot, had since he first set eyes on her, but seeing her like this, completely naked and uninhibited, really took things to a different level. He'd be thinking about this, about her for months.

Clint started to pump harder, a little more artlessly into her then, then ground out, "I'm close, Tash." His voice was strained and gravelly, and Bruce honestly doesn't know how the man has lasted as long as he has.

Bruce braced one hand on the desk, desperate to go over the edge with them, wanting to feel the rush of orgasm at the same time as the two people fucking in his decontamination chamber. Without warning, Natasha flipped Clint onto his back, trading places with the archer, then she reached down and grabbed his cock, keeping him in place as she slid down on to him.

Once she was fully seated on his cock, she started gyrating on top of him, bouncing up and down, and the wet slap of flesh on flesh came loud and clear over the speakers. Barton reached up with both hands to knead her breasts, and Natasha's own hands chased his, pressing his palms closer and tighter against her. Bruce could not remember a time when he had been more turned on than now, watching his teammates fuck bareback on the unrelenting metal floor of the decon chamber

Natasha shouted something in Russian, her voice shaky and guttural, and her features changed as she came again, and it was that look of passion and abandon and sheer pleasure etched across her features that sent Bruce over the edge himself, grunting in tandem with Clint.

When he looked back up, Natasha was sprawled out on top of Clint, and the two were sharing lazy kisses while Clint ran his hands over Natasha's hair and back. Bruce was wiping himself off with a tissue when Clint finally spoke and broke the silence.

"I thought you were dead today," he said, distress clear in his voice.

Natasha nuzzled his cheek with her nose at that confession, then whispered back, "I'm still here. Not going anywhere."

She ran her hand over Clint's face, and Bruce was suddenly struck with how wrong he'd been about their relationship, how wrong all of them had been. He'd thought for months that the two of them were fucking, but he'd thought that was all it was. Neither of the assassins seemed particularly prone to emotional outbursts, and Natasha especially was rather reserved. He'd just assumed that the two of them sought each other out when the urge struck, slept with each other to avoid unfortunate complications with other people.

He could see that he had been completely wrong; what he just witnessed was not the detached, mutual release of frustration he'd imagined, but something far more intimate. Bruce felt like he was intruding, watching as they caress each other, their mouths lingering together as they whispered in low voices.

"Don't ever fucking leave me," Clint whispered, and the torn, damaged sound of his voice struck Bruce deeply in his gut. Bruce felt keenly the lack of such companionship in his life, and he was really starting to feel dirty for masturbating to the scene that had just played out before him.

When Natasha buried her face into Clint's neck and whispered back, "Not as long as you stay with me, Barton," Bruce shut off the monitor, forced himself to take a deep breath and walk away from his work station to head for the showers. The pair still had another good half an hour in the decon chamber, and Bruce hoped that by then he might have calmed down enough to look the pair of them in the eye.


End file.
